


What You Are Good At

by DaughterOfAthena



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Just some good old joking dorks, M/M, and slave scars, but it's just a bit of fluff, there's parts that mention Amarth's slave life, this is just some happy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 06:05:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10237484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughterOfAthena/pseuds/DaughterOfAthena
Summary: Amarth has a question for Zevran partaining to his... skills.Zevran does not find the question amusing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at 3 a.m. After staring at a blank page for "Shattered Memories" and half a paragraph for "If Only Without Magic."
> 
> A friend was asking about Zevran and what he was good at.
> 
> I told her what he wasn't good at and made a joke.
> 
> The joke turned into a fic.
> 
> Copyright to dragon age belongs to Bioware. I am, but simply, a fanfic writer. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Amarth felt hands absently tracing over old, worn scars on his back. It wasn't meant to be intrusive, he knew this now, but thinking of the scars brought memories of the past that shouldn't see light again. Part of Amarth wanted to roll over and smack the owner of the hand for the tracing, but the other part of the elf didn't so much mind. Affection was hard and scarce in his life time, so being shown it now was a privilege and a gift that he wouldn't pass up. Those dexterous fingers, skilled at wielding blades, mixing poisons, and setting traps followed line after line on the Warden's back, a quiet hum being heard every so often. Who was humming, neither men knew. 

The Warden slowly rolled over onto his back, stopping the wandering hand to look at the elf behind him. Zevran was smiling, his blond hair fully down. The braids he usually had had been untied, falling in waves on the side of his face. The tattoos on his left cheek shifted ever so slightly as his eyes formed crows feet as his smile grew. Chapped lips were soon pressed to Amarth's forehead, and the ex-slave could only sigh at the gesture. 

"My apologies, mi amor," Zevran said, whispering. "It was not my intention to disturb you."

Amarth didn't say anything. It was a habit, almost. Even when spoken to, Amarth would remain quiet. A decade of slavery had left him an overly obedient man. Even when faced with his own freedom and will to speak, Amarth held his tongue more often than he would have believed. Instead, he took in the lines and sights of Zevran's face. A slow, tentative hand reached up to trace the Antivan's jawline, following it up to his ear and back down to his chin. Soon, Amarth's other hand moved to trace the other side of Zevran's face. The former Crow sighed and moved up to hover over Amarth. He didn't quite get on top of him, hovering from the side. Zevran took great care in watching his movements around Amarth. Their first night together consisted of Amarth crying (a lot) and Zevran learning to take things slow. Very slow. And to not make too many dominating moves without warning. But time had helped Amarth out of his skittish ways, and he was doing better. 

"What are you thinking about, amor?" Zevran asked, leaning into Amarth's palm. The Warden opened his mouth to say something then closed it. It would sound ridiculous if he said what he was thinking out loud. 

Instead, Amarth gently pulled Zevran down to a soft, slow kiss. While his lips were chapped, Amarth couldn't get enough of the feeling. Any time someone said that kisses had to have soft lips with tender nips between gentle pants and sighs had never kissed Zevran. Yes, his chapped lips were far from the smooth soft lips that many people seemed to care for, they were heaven. The gently sucking of his bottom lip always made Amarth shudder, just like the quick swipe of tongue across the seam of his lips. Zevran really knew how to work that tongue, not just when he kissed. 

But none of those sort of things happened. This kiss couldn't be couldn't as chaste, but it was not enough to be count as their usual, hungry kisses. Amarth didn't part his lips, and nor did Zevran. The Warden figured that the elf above him as only allowing what Amarth was giving. Always so careful. 

Amarth's hand moved to Zevran's chest to push him away, only to break the kiss. The man didn't want Zevran far, not when he was a suitable source of heat and comfort. He would never say it out loud, but having Zevran close made Amarth feel safe, stronger, less like a slave than he was used to. Granted, he was an assassin and could kill Amarth at any point in time, but there was a great deal of trust that Amarth placed in Zevran.

As Amarth stared into warm honey eyes, an idea came to him.

Well... not an idea, but rather, a question.

"Hey, Zev," he said, watching as Zevran raised an eyebrow. Attention. 

"I have a question."

"Do share," the Antivan said, moving to rest on his elbow instead of his hands over Amarth. The Warden did the same thing, facing Zevran with his hand on his cheek and elbow under him. The Antivan pulled Amarth closer to him, leaving his free hand on the Warden's hip. The hand didn't move or waver, just stayed there as the thumb made circles.

"If my pants were locked, like, with a chest lock, how long do you suppose it would take you to unlock them?" Amarth asked. 

There was an unamused look to Zevran's face. He was pouting, his brows scrunched together in a way that Amarth couldn't tell if he was angry or upset. Part of Amarth wanted to laugh at the face, the blunt annoyance at how badly Zevran was at picking locks. But another, the stronger part, barely suppressed a half formed smile. The Avntivan just sighed out at the other elf's cheesy grin and flopped onto his back. This gave Amarth the chance to move and lay on top of the other, resting his hands on Zevran's chest and his chin on the top of his hands.

"Maker preserve me," Zevran said. The blond elf draped an arm over his eyes and Amarth continued to stare, waiting for his answer. The former slave quietly traced Zevran's collar bone absently, waiting. He wanted to ask again, but...

_"You shouldn't need orders repeated! Once is enough and if you didn't get them the first time, you know what will happen."_

Amarth shook the though from him mind. He hopes that Zevran didn't see the moment of distress on his face as the voice of his former owner clouded mind. Silencing that voice had been a goal both men had made for Amarth.

"Amarth, amor, why are you asking this question?" Zevran asked. The elf laying on top of the Antivan simply shrugged. 

"Curious," he said. "You promised me that you were a fine lock picker and... well... Alistair is better at lock picking than you. Even Iko is better, and his a mabari." Amarth couldn't hold back his laugh at Zevran's distraught face at the notion of being worse than the dog at lock picking. Amarth meant none of this to wound Zevran, but rather, to question why the man was horrible at lock picking. 

"But why your pants?" He asked. Again, Amarth shrugged. 

"Incentive?" He said, questioningly. This time, it was Zevran's turn to laugh. 

"So, the only way for me to get into your pants, as you say, is to unlock a chest lock? What if I did not want to that day?" Zevran rebutted. Amarth worried his lip a moment. Why was he finding loop holes?

"Let's say you did," Amarth said. 

"What if I had lost all of my picks on the road?" Zevran was smiling. 

Amarth was furrowing his brows now. "Zevran, it's a hypo... hypothaltical question."

"Hypothetical, amor," Zevran corrected. The blond elf gently stroked Amarth's chestnut hair, watching the other relax. Amarth knew he wasn't very good at the common tongue. Hell, he wasn't very versed in speaking. Anytime he was corrected, the elf was embarrassed, to say the least. 

There was a moment of silence but Zevran sighed, saying, "I do not know what I would do, Amarth. I would simply break the lock before unlocking it correctly."

This time, Amarth did laugh, but tried to not be very loud. Zevran rolled his eyes at his lover, mostly because of the enjoyment from the ridiculous question. But once Amarth had settled, the Warden kissed Zevran on the chin and rested his head on his chest. Slowly but surely, Amarth's breathing began to match the rise and all of Zevran's chest. The Warden listened to the beating of his heart, slowly his eyes as fingers traced his back again. 

Zevran was humming something, a song maybe, which cause his chest to vibrate with the tone. Amarth felt his eyelids grew heavy, felt his grip weaken as he grabbed at Zevran's shoulder. He muttered something, something that was not common tongue. It must have been Elvish, which he would not remember in the morning saying. Zevran would remember, but would not mention it. Both men knew how much Amarth hated being referred to as Dalish. But the Warden began to fall asleep. Much needed sleep, in fact. He hadn't slept in two days and needed rest. 

The feeling of fingers tracing old punishment scars faded into Amarth's memory as he let sleep finally consume him.


End file.
